Kidnappings and Corruption
by Satan Abraham
Summary: When a magician's apprentice is kidnapped while out on an errand, the Wizard's Guild sends out a squadron of young soldiers to try and find him. Alongside this, the Crown Prince finds an interesting piece of literature while exploring the palace one bored day, from which he learns some interesting things about his father. [fantasy au] [multichapter]
1. the apprentice and the thieves

chapter one ; the apprentice & the thieves

Art Baker carried a basket full of herbs and other such things through the marketplace, peering around to try and see where he was going without running into very many people. His fair blond hair stuck to his forehead and his neck with sweat; the combination of the heat of the day in mid-summer and the weight of the basket was taking its toll. He had been raised in a poorer family until his gifts had become known, but even so, he was unpracticed and still couldn't manage to levitate the basket for more than a minute, let alone let it float along in front of him.

The marketplace was busy, as always. He saw Davidson at the mouth of an alley, which was odd – with Davidson's profession, he usually didn't come out until the night hours. Perhaps he had a meeting with someone, or perhaps he was pursuing his second job as a pickpocket. Either was likely.

Scramm was there, selling off some extra vegetables. His wife had recently had her first child, and was expecting another, Baker had heard. He wasn't quite sure what the intelligence in having so many children when they were so poor was, especially with the children being all around the same age, but he knew that his Master gave them free medical checkups, and everyone in the community liked them because they worked hard and were polite, so he did figure that he'd be okay.

He turned and staggered down a slightly dank alley, a breeze drifting through and fluttering his Magician's Apprentice robes around his ankles. This alley always made him a bit nervous, if only because he hadn't quite mastered combat magic, either.

No, necromancy was more his forte.

Someone bumped into him from behind and Baker was glad for the fact that his robes and belt was enough to show anyone that he need not pay. They could grope around as much as they wanted, they would not find a wallet anywhere.

His happy feeling passed when he felt something sharp press into the small of his back.

"Alright, apprentice," a rough voice said. "You're going to get out of your goddam robes, put down your fucking apprentice shit, and come with us."

"Who are you?" Baker asked, voice calm. He had been in a few fights before, of course, and even beaten someone quite badly – but they had been drunk. And this voice did not sound drunk in the slightest. "Why?"

"I'll ask the questions around here," the voice snapped. "Oi, Abe. Grab them out of his hands."

"Don't say my name, dumbass," a deep voice muttered to match the first. It wasn't quite as rough as the first, but there was still that quality about it that made Baker shiver. Then his basket was jerked from his arms and thrown, potions and herbs spilling everywhere. Standing in front of him was a thief. A tall, thin thief with ginger hair and freckles.

"Doesn't matter! We want the fucker to know our name, right? Don't tell me you forgot the goddam plan," the rough voice said. "If we ever wanna be proper criminals, we've gotta capture someone important."

"He didn't even try to fight us off," Abe said.

"I specialize in necromancy," Baker offered, and the point of the knife pressed further into his back. "I haven't quite learned the rest of it yet."

"Great," the rough voice said. "We've got the freak who can't do anything except raise the dead."

"No, I take it back," Abe said. "Not many of them specialize in that."

Baker shifted and the knife jabbed his back again. He winced a little. "Either way, I'm gettin' nervous," the rough voice said. "Let's get him back."

"I'll blindfold him," Abe said, pulling a strip of cloth from his pocket. It looked rough, and dirty, and if Baker had been more stuck-up, he would have been very leery of having that around his eyes for the disease factor. Now he was leery of it because of the fact that he was being kidnapped. "Get his clothes off of him."

Large, strangely uncalloused hands – young, then, young like Abe – undid Baker's belt and slipped his robe off of him, leaving him in undershorts and an undershirt. He shivered when a breeze went through the alley. It really was breezy today, wasn't it? Either that or it was someone magically keeping an eye on things, but if that was the case, Baker would hope that they would try and help him instead of watch him strip at knifepoint.

Abe turned him around to reach the rough voice with the knife. Yes, he was young, though large and intimidating-looking. He had dark blond hair and sideburns with a bit of growth on his chin and dark brown eyes set deeply into his face. He was tall – not quite as tall as Abe, but broad-shouldered and much more muscled. He was handsome, Baker supposed, though in a bad boy sort of way. The type of boy that you did not want to bring home to your mother, because he swore and he drank and he spat on rich boys shirts after punching them in the nose and stealing their money.

He noticed Baker staring at scowled. "The fuck you looking at?" he asked.

Baker didn't answer, and instead smiled at him. He flushed.

"Collie, come on, someone's going to get suspicious eventually. You can't just tell a magician's apprentice to strip at knifepoint and not expect someone to get suspicious," Abe said, tying the strip of fabric tightly onto Baker's head and covering his eyes. Baker shifted a little, and Abe tightened the knot. "There we go. Onward, faithful soldiers."

"Fuck you, Abe," Collie said. "If I wanted to be a soldier, I woulda stayed at home. What does that mean, anyway?"

"I think it's religious," Abe said. He sounded pondering. "But I can't be quite sure."

Collie grasped Baker's arm tightly. "Let's get going, then," he said. "Now that you mention someone getting suspicious, it's makin' me… goddam nervous."

"Collie Parker, 'goddam nervous,'" Abe said, like he was tasting the words on his tongue. "I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth. I don't know if I'd believe it, except for the word 'goddam' coming first."

"Fuck you, Abe," Parker said. He took a huge step forward, dragging Baker along after him. He counted their steps and their turns – they took a left when Baker would have turned a right, at seventeen steps, and one hundred steps and a right turn later, they went down a set of stairs. Baker sneezed at the sudden influx of dust, and Parker clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shh! We ain't exactly renting the place!"

"Parker, you're louder than that," Abe said. He untied Baker's blindfold with thin, deft fingers, then tapped him on both shoulders. "Parker's clothes should fit you. They might be a little roomy, but it's not like you're going anywhere, anyway."

"True," Baker said. He had to focus to stop his hands. "So, why did you kidnap me, exactly?"

"Abraham thinks a magician's apprentice will fetch a pretty ransom," Parker said. "An', hell, you only live once, so kidnap people all you want. Especially if you're goin' down the criminal route anyway."

Abraham rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Baker thought that he was doing it just for emphasis, but then a loaf of bread floated over into his fingers.

"You have the Talent," Baker said. "Why are you here?"

Abraham tore the bread into thirds, looking almost bored about the whole thing. "There are a lot more magic thieves than you might think," he said, passing the biggest piece to Parker, the second biggest to Baker, and taking the smallest for himself. "They'd never take me seriously, so why should I work for them? I'll be my own boss, and prove-"

"To the world that you're worth something, I know, I've heard it a million times before," Parker said. "I ain't magic. I just don't mind Abe sometimes."

"You love me and you know it," Abraham said. He took a bite out of his bread, chewing with a precision that did not come from a life on the streets.

"You were born into a high family," Baker said. Abraham paused.

"Maybe," he said, rolling the bread into one cheek. So he'd been out of money for a while. "Maybe not. What does it matter to you? You trying to fuck with my head like Parker said you would?"

"No, no, I said he'd try to fuck you."

"You did not."

Baker watched them argue. It was almost like his parents, really, people who had been around each other so long that they knew each and every quirk and similarly loved and hated them. He smiled a little, then remembered that he had been kidnapped and sat down with a thump on a nearby chair. Both of them glanced at him.

"I've been kidnapped," he said.

"That's right," Abraham said after a brief pause. "We kidnapped you. That's sort of what we were talking about."

"We need money," Parker said.

"And notoriety," Abraham added.

"Sometimes I feel like you use all'a those goddam big words and don't even know what they mean," Parker said. Baker, who had been educated and knew that Abraham had used the word correctly, came to his defense.

"He's right," he said. "If he was wrong, he would have said esteem or something."

"That's right," Abraham said. "Jesus, Parker, be a little more supportive."

Idly, Baker wondered what the young soldier that had taken to him was going to think when it was found out that he had been kidnapped. Because, if he was being completely honest with himself, Hank Olson was not level-headed at the best of times.

* * *

**Alright, so this is a new multi-chaptered fic that I will be updating **_**daily **_**through May 5****th****, and after that on Fridays once my fanfiction schedule is back to normal! Featuring… well, you'll see everyone, but this is just the beginning conflict of the story. It will be fun. Tremendous fun. So keep tuning in!**


	2. a life's savings gambled away

chapter two ; a life's savings gambled away

When the call came for all new recruits to gather in the training grounds, Hank Olson was glad for the excuse to leave the evil-faced Harold Quince and his immaculate records of who owed what. For the most part, Olson was a fairly good boy, at least if you were to listen to his mother, who often had better things to think about than her middle son. However, upon enlisting in the Castle Guard, he'd found something that he found he royally sucked at.

That thing was gambling.

He owed more than he would make in ten years, and that was after he'd used up his life savings paying off enough so that they wouldn't come after him with clubs. Which was likely to happen soon, but thankfully not at this exact minute, because now he was following the little blond boy called Percy to the training grounds.

He slipped in between Peter McVries and Raymond Garraty. "Any idea why we're here?" he asked. Garraty, his face in its usual bemused expression, shook his head. McVries rubbed at the scar that curved from his temple to his chin and sucked on the inside of his cheek before responding.

"I heard an Apprentice has gone missing," McVries said. There were, of course, many different kinds of apprentices, like blacksmiths and scribes and things of the sort, but the way that McVries said it made it absolutely clear what sort of apprentice had gone missing. More specifically, a Magician's Apprentice. "I don't know who it was, but apparently he had a rare talent…"

"It ain't Baker, right?" Olson asked, slinging one arm around each of their necks and leaning forward, nearly taking them down. "I mean, with his necromancy shit."

McVries just shrugged, rubbing at his scar again. Olson had to admire the scar, no matter how much of a dick he was underneath the badass scar. If you got to know him personally, sure, McVries wasn't the best, mostly because he snored and occasionally sleepwalked, but the scar made him look pretty cool.

"I hope it's not Baker," Garraty said, forehead drawing together as he pondered it. "Though I suppose it could be."

"It probably isn't," Olson said. McVries opened his mouth and Olson could tell that he was about to say something that would make him bad, so he hit him in the stomach with the hilt of his sword. "Shut up, McVries."

With that, he turned to wait. The one who was training them was a nondescript man whose name Olson could hardly remember on the best days. He wore normal clothes, had brown hair and brown eyes, and the only really special thing about him was the fact that his voice was about five times higher than any of the boys', including Percy's.

"As you may have heard," he said, voice nearly rupturing Olson's eardrums. He pulled a face, knowing that the man wouldn't do anything about it. He was lucky that they hadn't gotten a stricter teacher. "One of the Magician's Apprentice is missing. His name is Baker-" _Please be James please be James please be James_ "-Arthur."

Olson swore, and everyone turned to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I- are you sure?" Olson asked, grasping at nothing. When he found who had kidnapped Baker he would kill them, wouldn't even bother with the sword but just strangle them, feel their pulse die away beneath his hands, feel his fingernails bite into the soft flesh of their neck and murder them.

"Yes."

Olson made a noise in the back of his throat, and then McVries's strong arm clamped around his neck, holding him back from taking a step forward. Olson shook a little in McVries's grip, and after a few moments of seeing if he would say anything else, their instructor went back to what he had been about to tell him.

"Either way," he said. "It has been put to you to find him. You have been given a week to find him. If you fail… well, let's say it would not look well on you if you were to lose one of the only natural necromancers this kingdom has seen in centuries. I can see it's a bit… personal for a few of you, so hopefully it will motivate you, isn't that correct, Olson?"

He didn't trust himself to speak, so he settled on a quick nod. His mouth was dry. His blood was pounding in his ears, deafening him. He knew that he had to find Baker, to find and to rescue him and to kill the bastards that had kidnapped him. He didn't care if it was a pretty girl or the ugliest man in the world, or vice versa, he would kill them with his own hands and sweep Baker away and off of his feet. Even if Magicians were supposed to marry with the idea of reproducing, Olson would sweep him off of his feet anyway. There was no harm in that, was there?

"Dismissed," their instructor said, and McVries, still with his iron grip around Olson's neck, pulled him over to the edge of the training grounds. Garraty followed them, of course, hands twisting over themselves a bit nervously.

"Are you going to be okay?" McVries asked. "Because if I'm being honest, man, you look like you're about to go psycho on us."

"I'm fine," Olson said. His voice quivered as he said it, and he realized that it was from anger. "I've just decided. I'm going to find him. I'm going to kill whoever kidnapped him. And then I'm going to sweep him off of his feet and bring him here."

"Well, Sir Henry," McVries said after a brief pause. "That ain't happening, unless-"

"Shut up, I know," Olson said. He shoved McVries away with shaking fingers and took a lurching step away from them. He adjusted his sword, and took another step. He was walking faster now, taking longer strides, though they were still stumbling. He walked even faster, hoping that he'd be able to drive out the fear by walking faster. He crossed through the rest of the barracks, stumbling along almost drunkenly

He made his way out into the city before he managed to catch his thoughts again. He leaned against a wall, running a hand through his hair. He would be fine. He would be fine and he would find Baker, who would also be fine.

A small shape flitted past him and he reached out, grabbing it by the arm. It swore and his vision cleared enough for him to see who it was.

It was a small young man, probably around the same age as him, with shaggy dark hair that feel over his eyes and sharp features. His eyes were a bright brown, narrowed for confrontation. There was a bright red pimple on his nose.

"You," Olson said. "You look like scum of the streets."

"What the _fuck _did you just call me?" the kid asked. He jerked his arm away and crossed his arms defensively over his cheap, ragged shirt.

"Scum of the streets, loser," Olson aid. "So you probably know the ones that took Baker."

"Took what? I don't know what you're talking about," the kid snapped.

Olson contemplated it, then reestablished his grip on the kid's arm. "Well," he said. "Who would want to take a Magician's Apprentice?"

"I don't know!" he said. "Why the hell would I know? Let me go, bastard!"

Olson scowled. "You're going to help me, then," he said. The kid scowled. "First. Name."

"Barkovitch."

"And I'm Olson. And you, being scum of the streets, are going to find me other scum of the streets so that I can get my friend back."

Barkovitch just scowled.

[linelineline]

**And here's chapter two! **


	3. a witness & his price

chapter three ; a witness & his price

Davidson had been waiting for someone to come find him. He had been waiting in the marketplace for such a long time – Arthur Baker had been captured the day before, the guards had started looking later that afternoon, and just _then _had someone thought to come ask him what was going on.

"Well," Davidson said. "That really depends on how much you're willing to pay."

Davidson, who specialized in selling anything and everything he could get his hands on, but mostly sold information and his body, was ready to make a pretty penny off of Art Baker's kidnapping. He didn't quite know who had done it, though he did have his suspicions. He would check up on them later to make sure. The guard who stood in front of him, however, did not look like he was willing to barter.

"I don't have anything, bu-"

"Then neither do I," Davidson said. The kid in front of him scowled. He had Gary Barkovitch by the collar, which was a bit interesting. Barkovitch was probably the reason why the kid had come to Davidson in the first place, actually. He didn't seem smart enough to figure it out on his own. "Come back after you get your paycheck."

"He ain't gonna give us anything, let me go," Barkovitch said, yanking his shirt away. The kid barely looked at him, and Barkovitch used his distraction to pin Davidson with a glare and fade back into the shadows. Barkovitch did have a bit of magic of his own, Davidson knew – his grandmother had been a magician, one of the Old Order, come from the woods and died in the stream and all of that nonsense, and Barkovitch was very good at being unseen when he wanted to be.

There was also the fact that Barkovitch was quite short, which probably helped a lot.

"Look," Davidson said, pushing off of the wall, and leaning in close to speak in the kid's ear. "Give me your name and I'll find you in a few days with the information. If you don't have any money, you won't get the information. I can get you everything from names… to descriptions… to even the place he's held."

The kid licked his lips. "Olson," he said after a pause. "Hank Olson."

"Thank you," Davidson, taking a step back and inclining his head forward in mock respect. He grinned. "I'll find you. You go off on your little errands now, Hank Olson."

He turned and walked quickly into the alley, turning the wrong way, because he was almost entirely certain that Olson was following him. So he took a few more turns, backtracked a bit, and eventually stood on a rogue crate to pull himself into a second-floor window. He wriggled forward on his stomach, landing rather ungracefully on his face. A cloud of dust rose up with his landing, and he realized that he had landed on a cushion.

He sneezed delicately, once, twice, three times before wiping at his nose and glancing around. There was nobody in here, though the surroundings suggested that an animal, possibly a large dog with large teeth lived here. There were chewed upon bones in the corner, and the cushion he had landed on smelled like wet animal.

He stood up and brushed dust off of himself. He heard someone run past below and glanced out the window just in time to see Hank Olson continue down the alley. He smirked to himself, then picked his way through the room to the door.

The bones next to the door were human bones. He stared straight at a dusty, fragile-looking skull and shuddered before putting his hand on the door.

Something rammed into the door and let out a demonic growl. Davidson jumped back, hands immediately going up to protect his face. There was another growl, this one quieter and more calculating, and Davidson scrambled back toward the window, diving out of it and landing hard on his elbows. His bones were jarred by the impact, but he didn't think that anything was broken, so he picked himself up and rubbed his elbows, getting a few small rocks out of them. His shirt had torn on the way out, and a large chunk of it hung on the window.

He debated reaching up to grab it, but decided that it wasn't worth it. Instead, he slipped out of the alley and headed toward Abraham and Parker's place, fully intent on making Abraham laugh and Parker uncomfortable. The entire incident was out of his mind by the time he tromped down the stairs and knocked on the door that separated Abraham and Parker from the rest of the world.

It was Parker who answered. "The fuck do you want?" he asked. He looked a bit tired.

"Hello, Sir Muscles," Davidson said, squeezing underneath his arm and taking in the room. Yes. Yes, that was a little necromancer sitting in a chair. "And I suppose you're the kidnapped one- agh."

Parker had grabbed him around the neck and slammed the door shut with his foot. Davidson choked, fingers prying at Parker's arm to try and get some oxygen while Parker spoke menacingly in his ear. "And what are you doing here?"

"Cho- agh- king," Davidson managed, and then Parker let him go and shoved him forward. He landed on his hands and knees, coughing and rubbing his neck. "Relax, relax, I just need to – hey, hey, no need to kick me, I'm just here to – not the _face, _Parker, _God."_

"Give him some slack," Abraham said from the table he was sitting and eating a sandwich at. "Sandwich, Sir Prostitute?"

"Cold, Abraham," Davidson said.

"We only have cold sandwi-"

"No, I meant the title you gave me," Davidson said. Abraham's face made an understanding 'O' and he offered a sandwich to Davidson anyway. Davidson stood up, wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, and took it. It looked like a decent sandwich, all things considered.

"So," Abraham said. "Before Collie decides to murder you with his bare hands and throw your corpse outside to be molested by crows-" Davidson winced. "-what do you need?"

"Just making sure it was you who had him," Davidson said. He took a bite of the sandwich. Damn, that was a good sandwich. "You know what, I better eat this on the run, I hav-"

As soon as he tried to stand up, Parker pushed him back into the chair. Davidson managed an awkward smile.

"Alright," he said. "I can blow off my appointments. No big deal."

"That's right," Parker said. He leaned in. Davidson responded by leaning closer to him, and Parker very quickly straightened himself and took a step back.

"Well," Davidson said. "I might be willing to give them false information, depending on how much money you have."

"How about," Abraham said. "Now, this is just a suggestion, mind you, but how about I give you the rest of the sandwiches and Parker doesn't do the aforementioned crow molesting."

"Parker was going to molest crows?"

"No, no, the murdering you and then the crows molesting you, you know what I mean," Abraham said. Davidson, who did know what he meant, sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But it's your fault when I get thrown in jail for spreading false information. Do you know what they _do _to guys like me in jail?"

Parker moved for a sandwich, and Davidson slapped his hand away.

"Nuh-uh, big boy, those are mine," he said. "Your ginger friend said I could have them."

"We're going to starve, you goddam bastard."

"You should have thought about that before you threatened to molest crows," Davidson said. He tucked the sandwiches under his arm and headed for the door. "Well, boys, I best be on my way. I'll hit up Mister Olson and tell him that it was Scramm or something."

"Not Scramm," Abraham said, an expression of almost anger flitting over his face for a second. Davidson gave a half-shrug.

"Whatever," he said. "Either way, I'll make it up."

"Then Parker won't molest crows-"

"_For God's sake, I do not molest crows!"_

* * *

**And day three! I'm not sure if I'm going to wait on the last storyline for a while, because there is one more thing that I want to happen, but I think that I probably will wait it out, because we've got enough stuff on our place for now. Either way, here we go for today!**


	4. the disappearing thief

chapter four ; the disappearing thief

Gary Barkovitch ended the day in the back of someone's shop, as always. They weren't aware that he stayed, of course, he switched it up often and only stole enough food from them that they wouldn't quite notice that someone had been there. His ability to be unseen when he wanted to be unseen helped quite a bit as well, because when they stumbled downstairs for God-knows-what, he could shrink against the wall and their eyes would pass over him like he had always been and would always be part of the background.

He settled himself in, pulling a tarp off of a nearby crate and huddling underneath it. It was a little chilly at night, nothing unmanageable, of course, but it was always a lot nicer to have something covering him. Not only was there the comfort factor, it did help out with being unseen.

There was a large pounding overhead and he glanced up. Dust scattered down from the ceiling, and Barkovitch wondered if this place was, in fact, abandoned rather than just a bit dusty. Everything around him looked dirty and unused.

Curiosity overtaking him, he stood up, brushed himself off, and made his way to the front of the storeroom. It wasn't empty by any means, though he wasn't quite sure what was in all of these crates covered in tarps. He would look in them on his way back out, if he had the time. That is, if it really was abandoned and he wasn't being chased by angry men with clubs or dogs with sharp teeth.

Which had happened before when he had misjudged such things. But he'd never been hurt permanently, so he chalked the beginning of his life as a success. The next thing he needed to do was get rich and get powerful, and then he would be set.

How he was going to go about this, he wasn't sure, but perhaps if he found that missing necromancer…

That would get his foot in the door, that was for certain. He would have to alter his overall plan a bit, but it was a good alteration, so that was fine. It was fine, he told himself as he creaked open the door to the rest of the building.

He was faced with a staircase. This was odd, because the building seemed a lot bigger than this back storeroom and a narrow staircase. He glanced on either side of it, wondering if there was maybe a space below that took up the rest of the space that was unaccounted for, but there was nothing.

He half-wondered what would happen if one tried to enter from the front, then decided that he could check that out if he really wanted to know later, too. The crates and the front door – he made a mental note in his mind.

He glanced back at the door and decided to prop it open, just in case. He dragged one of the smaller crates over and wedged it in-between the door and the doorframe, then headed up the stairs. They creaked under his feet before he adjusted his steps with his magic and was silent. He hand both hands on the railings, just in case the stairs decided to collapse. He normally wouldn't be too worried, considering that he was quite small, but they looked far older than anything else he had ever seen, like he had jumped forward in time hundreds of years and was in the same building he'd decided to spend the night in.

There was another door at the top of the stairs. He put his hand to the doorknob and there was a violent half-growl, half-bark from the other side. He jerked away, pressing himself to the wall, willing himself to melt into the wall. He waited like that for a few seconds, and with nothing more from the thing behind the door, he made the decision to continue on.

He didn't quite know why, but he felt like it would be necessary for his Plans to continue and prevail. He opened the door and was faced with something so huge and so terrifying that he nearly took a step backward in horror.

It was a dog, sort of – it had the same general shape as a dog, anyway, although the teeth were longer than any dog Barkovitch had ever seen, and the thing itself was bigger than he was. It had a hunched back and long, yellowed claws on its paws. It struggled to stand, and when it did, it loomed over him at about six and a half feet. He swallowed, but stayed still.

Its face came close to Barkovitch's, and he stared into muddy red eyes.

Before he could react, it collapsed into a bow. He stared at it, unsure what to do and why it was doing what it was doing. "U-uh," he said. It stared up at him, awaiting his order, and, after a moment, presented a bit of cloth that looked interestingly like Davidson the prostitute's shirt. Barkovitch took it from him, hardly aware of what he was doing.

"What are you?" he asked.

_Your hound, Descendent of Agneza. _

His grandmother. The one who had been full magic, the one who had been, supposedly, faerie. "So I… I control you?"

_Yes. The informant has found my hideout, Descendent. Do you wish me to dispose of him?_

Barkovitch, eyes wide, nodded. "Do you do whatever I want? Can I use you for my Plan-" he broke off when he saw the hound nodding.

_That is correct. My first order is to dispose of the informant, then?_

"Y-yes," Barkovitch said. "Yeah. Get rid of that prick. Can I stay here?"

_Of course. There is a cushion in the room at the end of this hallway, Descendent, if you would wish to stay there instead of in the storage room._

Barkovitch nodded, and the hound led him down the hallway, which was dusty and spattered with gore, to a room with a few piles of bones and a large cushion next to the window.

_Feel free to move the cushion if you wish._

Almost as if he were moving in a dream, Barkovitch gave the piece of cloth back to the hound and walked over to the cushion. He sat down on it, and the hound brought a blanket that was much more comfortable than the tarp he'd been sleeping underneath downstairs. He didn't quite feel like sleeping yet, so he leaned against the wall and looked out the window. It looked out into a dark alleyway with very little in it – there was a crate underneath the window, just tall enough so that someone of a nice height could reach and pull himself through.

That was probably what the 'informant', as the hound called Davidson, had used to get inside. Barkovitch wasn't sure why Davidson had decided to go into an abandoned building through a second floor window, but he had an idea that it had something to do with the kidnapping of Arthur Baker and Hank Olson's search for him.

In other words, it was all Collie Parker's fault.

* * *

**I was originally going to have the hound thing kill Barkovitch, but then I decided on this instead. Davidson can have to fight for his life. Or die. I don't know what I'm going to have happen.**


	5. life with a necromancer

chapter five ; life with a necromancer

"I'll be back in a bit," Abraham said, stretching and touching the ceiling. Parker narrowed his eyes at him, and Abraham rolled his eyes. "Calm down, Collie. I won't be gone long. You can keep our necromancer entertained."

Parker glanced at Baker out of the corner of his eye. Baker was idly using his finger to make a mini whirlpool in his cup of water. He looked up when Parker looked at him and gave him a wave.

"He's entertained enough. You're the one who gets along with the bastard, why the fuck do I have to babysit?" Parker hissed. He grabbed Abraham by the shoulders and pushed him over to the far side of the room. He was very close to Abraham's face now, staring into those infuriatingly blue eyes.

"Because you don't have to people skills to do what I'm doing," Abraham said, wriggling his bony shoulders out of Parker's hands. He grinned and ruffled Parker's hair with one hand. Parker ducked out of the way, scowling. "You'll be _fine."_

"Are you two done?" Baker asked from across the room. "Or are you getting divorced?"

"Of course not," they said in unison, and then Parker jerked away.

"Wha- we were never fucking _married, _dumbass," he snapped, face flaming. Abraham, who was slightly pinkish himself, agreed.

"I am tragically a bachelor," he said. "And also not into Parker."

"Are you saying I'm ugly?" Parker asked, rounding on Abraham. Abraham waved his hands, shaking his head wildly. His hair flapped around his face, some of his bangs sticking in his eyeball. He brushed them away irritably.

"You're absolutely gorgeous," Abraham said.

When Parker turned back to Baker after Abraham had left, Baker had his eyebrow raised.

"Shut up," Parker said, then stood with his back to the door and waited. He stared straight at Baker, who stared straight back, a weird smile on his face. Parker shifted. Baker kept smiling. Parker glanced away, and when he glanced back, Baker was still just staring and smiling. Parker swallowed, and then thankfully the staring contest (which he had lost about twenty times by now) was interrupted by someone pounding on the door like they were being chased by something that was about to eat them.

He turned and opened the door to see Davidson, panting, blood crusting his hair to one side of his face. "Parker-" he gasped, stumbling inside, grabbing onto the front of his shirt and burying his face in Parker's chest. "Let me in, you need to let me in, please, please, please, Parker-"

"You're already in," Parker said drily, backing up a few steps and shutting the door.

"Lock it, lock it Parker lock it-"

Parker locked it, a bit confused, and pried Davidson's fingers from his chest and held him a few feet away from him, hands circling Davidson's forearms. "What the fuck happened?" he asked. "Didja… I don't know, didja let it spill to Olson that you were gonna give him false information?"

"What? No, no fuck Olson, nothing to do with him, I don't know what it is it's huge and it's going to _kill _me, _kill _me Parker, you need to help I need to – I need to-"

"Calm down," Baker said, slipping around Parker and putting a head on Davidson's head, pushing his hair away from his forehead. His touch seemed to smooth Davidson, whose breathing slowed a bit. "What happened?"

"I- I- I woke up," Davidson said, taking a great shuddering breath. "And something was kind of… weird. But I didn't think anything of it, because sometimes that just happens, you know? So then I get up, and I go to my appointments, and I'm a little tired, but overall it's fine, it's fine, so I keep going and then I hear- I hear this growl, and I'm like, what the fuck. What the fuck, you know, what the fuck is going on. But I keep going and the next thing I know I get slammed into this wall and I cut my head open and then I only catch a glimpse, but it's _terrifying_, _terrifying you have to help me."_

"You know what it is, witch boy?" Parker asked Baker, who had removed his hand from Davidson's head and was looking at Davidson's sweat with a weird intensity. "I'm not sure," he said. "Something… something old. Ancient. It's just woken up, and I bet Davidson lost that part of his shirt in its lair."

"Oh, _shit,"_ Davidson said, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Shit, it was that abandoned place I went in to shake off Olson – damn it all, it was him. It was because I needed to get out of his sightline. Damn it all, it was all his fault."

"Okay," Parker said after a brief pause. "What."

"I shook him off before coming here the first time, you're welcome, by the way, and I climbed up into this old abandoned place and my shirt got caught on the window but I just went, I didn't care about that, it was an old shirt anyway and if I get it patched I'll look poor, so I left it and now there's something after me."

The doorknob jiggled.

Davidson shrieked and hid behind Parker. "Don't let it in!"

"Calm down, it's probably just Abe," he said. "Don't know why he's back so early, but he probably forgot something."

"Don't let it in!"

"Baker, take care of this loser," Parker said. He didn't know what Baker did, but then Davidson was gone from his back and he walked forward and opened the door. Abraham was on the other side of the door, a vacuous, dazed look in his eyes. "See? It's just… just Abe."

Abraham walked into the room, completely bypassing Parker. Davidson whimpered and hid behind Baker.

"You don't have to worry, man, seriously, it's just Abe-" Parker said, stepping between the two of them. Still, there was something about the way that Abraham looked that made him nervous. Something about the way that he was moving, all jerky, like he wasn't used to walking on two legs. Something about how he wouldn't quite look at Parker. "Abe?"

He turned back to look at him and was faced with a chair. Then it made contact with his face and everything went black.

* * *

**And on that note the next update is I-don't-know-when.**


	6. barkovitch's demon

chapter six ; barkovitch's demon

Art Baker hesitated for two seconds before shoving Davidson behind him and grabbing the chair that Abraham was holding. He knew that something had to be wrong with Abraham – in no universe would Abraham harm Collie Parker _on purpose. _On top of that, he was beginning to get the same feeling from Abraham that he'd gotten from Davidson.

So the evil had infected Abraham; from the look of his eyes, possessed him.

Baker had failed his exorcism class. He could barely get rid of a harmless ghost, let alone something of this magnitude. He was good with the dead, that was true, but he was mostly good at bringing the dead back, not sending them away. Either way, this looked to be less of a ghost and more of a full-out demon. Demons… wouldn't even be covered for another few years. He swallowed and hoped that he could just knock Abraham unconscious.

He swung the chair toward Abraham. The thing in him moved his body to the side like a puppet; jerkily, nearly bending his body in half backwards to dodge. Then it went straight for Davidson again, who shrieked and pressed his back against the wall. Baker dropped the chair and leaped at Abraham, tackling him to the side. Abraham struggled, striking out with his fists and catching Baker under the eye and across the ribs and on the collarbone, but Baker held on, holding him to the ground.

"Run, Davidson!" Baker snapped. Davidson's back slid down the wall and he let out a wail. A dark shape appeared at the door, a small boy with darkish skin and big brown eyes.

"That's the apprentice!" he said. "Get him, get him, I can use him!"

"What?" Baker asked. Abraham went limp and whatever had been in him swirled out of his mouth and eyes to stand on all fours on the ground, very real and very solid. Blood began to leak out of Abraham's orifices: his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his ears, and he gurgled a little. Baker got off of him and backed up, suddenly terrified.

The thing that had been in Abraham could only be described as some sort of huge dog, with matted fur and teeth longer than Baker's forearm. Baker swallowed and took a step back, Davidson shaking and whimpering behind him, Parker still unconscious on the floor, Abraham's body still leaking blood.

"Leave Davidson for now," the small boy said. "Just get the Apprentice."

The demon dog nodded and headed straight for Baker, who backed up even farther. He felt a shot of energy from the ground – had someone been buried down here? It felt like it. It felt like they were above several burial sites. Baker's eyes widened as the idea came to him – if there were enough of them, it would be enough to chase the thing off, if only for a while. Suddenly thankful that Parker and Abraham had taken his shoes away, Baker backed into the table. The thing apparently didn't get what he was doing, because he was able to grab the knife and slice open his arm.

Blood dripped to the floor, sinking through the floorboards. He could feel it go into the ground – he could feel bodies stirring below his feet, and he took a few steps back to give them some room.

It was a group of soldiers. There were three of them, three bodies with that strange, inhuman look that the recently reanimated have – their skin and flesh had been restored by the magic, but that didn't mean it looked natural.

The boy at the door swore, and the demon headed straight for the three soldiers. Baker had given them clear instructions when raising them – to do whatever it took to drive the demon out – and they followed them exactly.

Baker watched as they pushed the demon out the door, sending it, along with the dark boy, out into the alleyway. Parker stirred at this moment, and Baker dropped down to his knees beside him. He was fine. He'd have a nasty bruise on his head, but he would be fine. Baker was a lot more worried about Abraham, to be honest. He'd stopped leaking blood, but he was deathly pale and hadn't so much as moved an inch.

Baker took a deep breath and, ignoring the battle that was going on a few feet away from the entrance to their little area, turned back to Davidson, who was clutching at the sides of his head and staring out the door.

"Davidson," he said. "I need you to snap out of it and help me."

Davidson managed to look at him.

Baker sighed and headed back over to Parker. He'd wake him up, at least. He grabbed a cup of water and flung it at Parker's face. Parker made a noise and turned his head away. Baker tried again.

On the fourth try, Parker was up.

"What the _fuck," _he said very plainly. "Is going on?"

"That doesn't matter, I'll tell you while we go," Baker said. "Grab Abraham. If you can get Davidson to follow us, that'd be great, too."

"F-follow you?" Davidson asked, voice small and squeaking.

"Yes, follow us," Baker said. Parker took one look at Abraham and paled. "It's no time to be getting emotional, Parker."

Parker shook his head. "Right, right…" he said. He swallowed and stood up, a little shaky on his feet. He grabbed Abraham and threw him over his shoulder. "C'mon, Davidson, or I'll personally kill you."

This spurred Davidson into motion in the way that Baker somehow couldn't – he was a _necromancer, _and still Davidson listened to Parker over him – and he stood up, a little shaky, and held onto the back of Parker's shirt as the three of them (plus an unconscious Abraham) edged past the battle. The dark boy glared at them from behind the demon, and Parker muttered something about stupid thieves with magical ancestry.

"So, where're we going, necromancer?" Parker asked, shifting his grip on Abraham. Abraham still looked worse for the wear. Baker still worried. "Is Abe gonna be okay?"

Baker swallowed. "I don't know," he said. "I… where could we take him?"

Parker sighed. "His family," he said. "They don't know he's alive, and he'll hate us for it when he wakes up, but… hell, at least he'll wake up. Come on. And Davidson, get the fuck off of my shirt."

* * *

**This is a) last week's chapter and b) kind of short, but… it kind of felt like the place to stop? So, there we go.**


End file.
